


Beautiful Dream

by annabeth_at_the_helm



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Pranks, Sexual Content, canon cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 18:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm
Summary: A Margaret and Frank interlude of the interrupted and unsatisfying sort. Margaret is fond of Frank's Lipless Wonder, as she calls it, but why does it feel like something's missing?





	Beautiful Dream

"I'm telling you, Margaret, they're _animals_! They put chocolate pudding in my pillow and then claimed the rats were pooping there. They offered to put rat poison down—in my pillow, Margaret!" Frank makes a moue of distaste and cozies up to her, and not for the first time—as he begins to bite just beneath her ear, just a shade too hard—she wonders why she puts up with him. Then again, at least he's regular army; she could be stuck with only those two degenerates he shares a tent with, and the thought is completely unacceptable.

"Frank," she says, trying not to sound as high-pitched as he does. At least one of them should sound masculine. "A woman doesn't like to be gnawed on like a chicken bone." She pushes him away.

"My wife has never complained," he says, as clueless as ever. Sometimes Margaret just wants to clobber him over the head. But then he unveils his secret sex technique, the Lipless Wonder as she likes to call it, and she finds herself melting into her panties, just anxious for him to get to the main course.

Maybe she is a chicken bone after all.

"Frank!" she cries out, though, knowing she must look dismayed and tearful. Not for the first time, Margaret asks herself why she lets him get to her. Why she needs his regular army or his lipless mouth so much.

"Oh, I'm sorry, darling! I didn't mean it, you know I didn't! But you just taste so delicious." _What are you apologizing for, Frank? The mention of your wife, or trying to rip me apart with your blunt teeth?_ Margaret asks silently.

"Never mind, forget it!" she says, and twists in his arms to throw hers around him. "Just kiss me, Frank." He does, and she still marvels that he can be such a good kisser with no lips. He sweeps her up into a formless wave of passion, and her body goes gooey and boneless and she closes her eyes, kissing him back.

Soon enough he's depositing her on the bunk, kneeling over her, still kissing her lips, and Margaret is preparing herself for a gratuitous application of the Lipless Wonder when the lights go out.

Frank pulls off her, sounding whiny and angry in the dark: "Oh, those two… two… degenerates! You know they did this on purpose!" He jumps off the cot and stalks off into the dark, followed by a low, still whiny, curse as he trips on something.

"I know, Frank, I'm sure they're behind it. Just light a candle and—"

"You know, Trap," comes from outside the door in Pierce's voice, "too bad the generators went out. It's a good thing we're bringing candles to the lovely major. I'm sure she'll appreciate it, don't you?"

"Oh, I'm sure," McIntyre says, sounding like he's trying to stifle a laugh.

"Quick! The closet!" Margaret hisses, and watches through the dimness as Frank stumbles around trying to find her closet. Oh, she knows that McIntyre and Pierce suspect her and Frank, but if they saw her now—! With her lips red-kissed and her slip the only thing she has on? And Frank in her tent? She wouldn't be able to live down the humiliation.

Which is probably just how they want it, the composite jerks.

There's a loud knock—and it's Frank's and her secret knock, no less—and then Pierce says,

"Candle brigade, Major! Looking to bring a little light to your life!"

"Hmm?" she says, trying to make her voice husky, as if just roused from sleep. "I'm sleeping. I don't need candles!"

"Now, Major, is that any way to thank us, your trusty friends and bringers of light?" McIntyre says, and he's definitely laughing. It's too bad he's so handsome—he's lacking in the personality department.

"Just go away!" Frank yells, and both of those two army doctors with the lascivious sense of humor giggle. They fucking _giggle_, of all things.

"Oh, Frank!" Margaret hisses into the dark. "Get over here and shut up, for Christ's sake, you know what they're like! What they'll think!" He knocks something over, fumbling and tripping over things, but eventually he makes it to her side.

"I think you have a Frank in your throat, Margaret," Pierce calls. "Was it something you ate at dinner… or afterward?"

Oh, the insinuating creep! She would march out there and give him a piece of her mind if it didn't mean sacrificing her dignity. Which she has far too much pride to do, thank you very much.

The lights flicker and come back on, and she listens for a moment, but the footsteps are moving away from her tent.

"Margaret!" Frank whimpers, burying his head against her shoulder and, despite the distress, biting down. "I thought they'd never leave, and they were keeping you from me, my angel!"

"Am I more or less of an angel than your wife, Frank?" Margaret asks caustically, but he doesn't notice; he never does.

"You can't compare to her, darling," Frank says, nibbling at her earlobe. _Wonder if that's a good thing?_ Margaret thinks.

She hears him unbuckling his belt, and sighs inwardly. Even though he makes her feel good, even though his non-lips work magic over her skin, sometimes she wishes that McIntyre were more… into regulations, she supposes. She can imagine what it would be like to dress up in her uniform, her clusters freshly polished, and have McIntyre figuratively at her feet, drooling like a treat-scenting dog at the idea of getting to be near her…

But instead she's stuck with Frank, who at this point has pushed up her slip, shoved her panties to the side, and is grunting over her like a winded hog. Despite the magic he creates before he gets inside her, sometimes she's just stuck like this, in a kind of limbo, bored and unimpassioned while he gets his rocks off. She's not sure, but times like this, it always feels like something's _missing_. Like something _more_ should be happening—and isn't.

She wonders if McIntyre knows what it is. Then thinks to herself, _probably_.

Frank gives a few more thrusts—he has a decent sized piece of equipment, she'll give him that, she really likes the size of his gun—and grunts louder, before yanking free—her flesh is not as wet anymore as it could be, and the friction almost hurts as he departs, then he rolls onto his back and fists himself.

She can't ask Colonel Blake for a requisition of condoms, and it's not like Frank would ever think to ask, so she's lucky he even considers it at all when he pulls out and finishes on his own stomach. She supposes that's because, not whether he'd get her pregnant is inconvenient for _her_, but that it would cause problems because he's married.

He wipes his hands on a towel she passes over dispassionately, and then he comes back to kiss her again, but using way too many teeth.

"Frank," she mutters, "I'm not a chew toy. You keep doing that, I'm going to think you're some kind of animal."

"Oh, but I _am_, Margaret, for you! You make me into an animal." He gnaws at her shoulder until she shoves him off.

"I'm tired, Frank. Go take a cold shower and cool off," she says in annoyance. He pouts, but she simply raises an eyebrow until he climbs off her bed. "Goodnight, Frank," she says.

"I do so love you, Margaret, don't forget. If you ever leave me I'll… I'll have to inject myself with an overdose of morphine and go to sleep forever dreaming of you."

"Just get out, Frank," she says tiredly, and he does. She wishes he didn't think she should go to sleep forever dreaming about him, but he probably does.

And she allows herself to dream: maybe Pierce and McIntyre are beautiful, regular army, always in uniform, always fighting for her favor… she falls asleep.

It's a beautiful dream.


End file.
